


Veracity

by Sunnybone



Series: Sylver AU Fics [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Crestless!Sylvain, Experiment!Sylvain, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Sylver AU, because Sylvain, mentions of experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnybone/pseuds/Sunnybone
Summary: Felix has been trying to make sense of the changes in Sylvain since their separation in childhood, and pieces begin to fall into place after facing Miklan at Conand Tower.Based on@vwyn19's Crest Experiment Sylvain (Sylver) AU
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylver AU Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700455
Comments: 11
Kudos: 179
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	Veracity

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I am writing Sylver fic, because this AU still haunts me

The aftermath of Miklan is this: everyone who had tried to give Sylvain condolences about fighting his brother is silent. His willingness to kill his own brother was not lost on them, nor were any of Miklan's verbal jabs about what a fool he was, still just a _spoiled brat_ , a little _thief_ , a little _freak_. There was something there that none of the rest of them were privy to, and it made them hesitant to say the wrong thing.

Felix had not offered condolences—he remembered just enough of Miklan to know he had never been a particularly _caring_ brother, and he had been watching Sylvain enough to see that Sylvain showed more apprehension when the Lance was mentioned than when his brother was. 

So no one is offering condolences, no one is really _speaking_ to Sylvain, leaving him a respectful and cautious berth at the edge of their camp.

Well.

Everyone but Lysithea, who had joined their class just for this month's mission.

Byleth has been trying to recruit her into their class, because her skill with magic is obvious, but so far she has resisted. But Felix was there when Lysithea approached Byleth and asked to assist, and he _knows_ it is because of Sylvain. Because they have some kind of connection.

Lysithea sits next to Sylvain at the edge of camp, as if they are on watch, one small hand on his shoulder. They're not looking at each other, both gazing out towards the burgeoning night, not really speaking. They don't look entirely comfortable, but even Felix can see that Sylvain is being _comforted_.

It rankles. She's—he doesn't _get_ it. He knows Sylvain isn't _fucking_ her, and that's the only thing he seems to care to talk to girls about outside of class. But Lysithea is different; they're always studying, always bent over complicated tomes and whispering, and it spikes something acid through him to see their snowy heads bent towards each other. They have a _connection_ , and he doesn't know how or _why_ , and he hates it.

He is _jealous_ , because Sylvain was _his_ friend once, someone deeply important to him, and he's lost enough of that that it stings to watch it happen again. Glenn is gone, Dimitri is an animal playing at being a prince, and Sylvain disappeared and came back a stranger Felix doesn't _understand_. Ingrid is the only one he has left, and she can't look at him without seeing his dead brother, and Felix might as well be alone.

He keeps… trying. He hasn't ever been very good with words, always overwhelmed as a small child to the point of tears by so many things he couldn't articulate. These days he's learned to trade the tears for clenched teeth and clenched fists and scoffs and battered practice dummies, but none of those things really _help_ when it comes to _Sylvain_. Felix tries the things he is good at, tries to figure out Sylvain through the languages Felix speaks, but it doesn't get him any closer to understanding who Sylvain is, now.

No matter how much he watches him, no matter how many times they spar sword to lance, there's still too many pieces missing to the Sylvain puzzle.

This, Conand Tower, cutting Miklan down _twice_ , and the flash of the Gautier Crest as Sylvain dealt the final blows, is not how he wanted to figure Sylvain out.

He knows there's more to it, but the most important thing is that fucking Major Crest, and the empty, _empty_ smile on Sylvain's face when it had activated.

So Felix decides he will not sit like everyone else, a respectful distance from Sylvain, and watch him uselessly. Felix has tried the methods he is good at, and they haven't worked—now he must try _words_ , and at least _Sylvain_ has always been good with those, and _Sylvain_ is the one who needs to _talk_.

He stalks over to the pair and stops in front of them, one hand on his hip, the other tapping at the hilt of his sword. Lysithea glances up at him in question, but he ignores her to glare at Sylvain, who stares at the ground between his feet. It builds something hot and _boiling_ inside of him, to be _ignored_ , to be _unseen_ — 

“Look at me,” he hisses, and Sylvain does—his eyes are shadowed, red-rimmed as though he’s been crying, his colorless lashes damp. “What _happened_?” he demands, and Sylvain doesn’t bother with a fake smile, his brow creasing in confusion.

“You were _there_ , Felix, I don’t know what you want me to say—”

“Not in _there_ , I know what Miklan _was_ ; what _happened_ to _you_?” The question has been coiled inside him ever since they’d met again and he had seen Sylvain’s hair, Sylvain’s scars, Sylvain’s darkening fingertips. Sylvain stares at him for a second, and then his face goes blank and he drops his gaze to the middle of Felix’s chest.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, buddy,” he starts, but Felix growls furiously and grabs him by the lapels of his stupid jacket.

“ _Don’t lie to me_ ,” he means to order, but it comes out more broken than he could ever intend, and Sylvain blinks back up at his face in shock. Felix can feel his own face twisting against his will, bent by years of grief he could only vent through rage, and he gives Sylvain the tiniest shake. “I _know_ you didn’t have a Crest. Don’t _lie_ to _me_.”

“Felix,” Lysithea hisses, reaching perhaps for his arm, but Sylvain stops her as he lifts his own hand.

“It’s ok, ‘Sith. It—can you give us a minute?” He never takes his eyes off of Felix, but he reaches up and grips the hands on his collar until Felix lets go; Sylvain _doesn’t_ let go, wraps his hands around Felix’s and holds tight as though seeking comfort. 

“Alright,” she says, though she throws a look at Felix that says she is not above murdering him as she gets up from her seat. “I’ll be nearby,” she adds, as a comfort and a warning, and Felix scoffs even as Sylvain guides him by his hands to sit beside him in her vacated place. Sylvain turns to look at him, and then turns away, one hand coming to cover his eyes as he folds in half, elbows on his knees, still holding tight to one of Felix’s hands.

Felix stares down at the scars on the back of Sylvain’s hand and arm as Sylvain explains, detached and methodical, how he had been sent from his home by his father into a nightmare of experiments, blood, and torment, all so that he might gain a Crest and wield the forsaken Lance of Ruin. How the Crest had bleached the color from his hair the same way it has stolen years off of his life, the strain imposed on his body by the Major Crest it never should have borne.

When he finishes, Felix exchanges the hand he is holding Sylvain’s with so that he can reach up and thread his fingers through the hair at the back of Sylvain’s head, petting through it and trying to remember the exact shade of riotous, autumnal red he had been born with.

“Someday,” he says, quietly, as Sylvain leans into his side, “I’m going to kill your father.” Sylvain laughs something like a sob and leans more heavily into him, and they sit like that for a long time in silence, hands gripped tight as Felix runs soothing fingers through Sylvain’s hair.

+

When they return from Conand Tower, Felix catches his father at the stables as he's preparing to leave the monastery to return to Fraldarius.

"Did you know?" It's a quiet question, his arms crossed and his eyes cast to the floor, but when he forces himself to look up to gauge Rodrigue's expression Felix radiates _intensity_.

"Did I know what, Felix?" Careful, measured, patient, the same exact tone Rodrigue has taken with Felix for _years_ , and Felix grits his teeth to keep from exploding, because this is too important for that just yet.

He can explode when he has an answer.

"About Sylvain." There's a flicker of something in his father's eyes, quickly covered, and Felix's fingers dig into his crossed arms.

"Felix, you will have to be more specific. Did I know what about Sylvain?" He's gone even more polite in tone, and Felix feels like a piece of ice has dropped into his stomach.

"Did you know," he says slowly, carefully, trying _so hard_ to stay calm long enough for a _straight answer_ , "about his Crest? What they _did_ to him?" Rodrigue frowns, even as something in his stance relaxes.

"It's my understanding that Sylvain was ill for a time, he was a frail child. The Margrave said there was a surgery performed which cured him, but I never inquired about the deeper details, Felix."

Ill for a time. _A frail child_. Felix can vividly remember spending time with Sylvain before the Margrave had sent him to be defiled; he had been warm and vibrant and _strong_.

"Cured him?" He grinds out with a laugh, an angry puff of breath. Felix presses plum bruises into his biceps. "So you didn't—you _don't_ know, do you?" He searches his father's face and he _hates_ his manners, the Courtly Politeness that would have kept him from prying into Gautier's personal affairs, actually _doing_ anything about it. "They didn't _cure_ him, he wasn't _ill_ ; he didn't have a Crest."

"Felix, that's quite impossible," Rodrigue starts, but Felix shakes his head.

"He _didn't_. He was like Miklan. They tried, for a while, to give Miklan a Crest, but their methods didn't work, so the Margrave sent Sylvain to a group who'd had success before. You met her," he says, hurried, as Rodrigue opens his mouth, "on the way to Conand. The girl with hair like Sylvain's, Lysithea." Sylvain had not told him this, but it hadn’t been hard to figure out, not with their hair and their _closeness_.

His father frowns again. "Felix, if something like that were possible—"

"It would be kept secret," Felix interrupts, glaring down at the ground. "It goes against what the Church teaches about Crests, and there are plenty of nobles who wouldn't want just _anyone_ having one. It makes for a powerful weapon, doesn't it?" He adds, bitter, and when he finally glances back up, his father is watching him, contemplative.

"I will investigate this myself," he says, and Felix feels an odd flash of...worry?

"Be careful about it, Old Man. They're more powerful than we know." Rodrigue's answering smile is small, just the barest quirk of his lips.

"Thank you for your concern, Felix." Felix scowls. "I shall proceed with utmost caution; I trust you will do the same?”

He tosses his head, annoyed. “I’m no fool; I look after myself.” Unlike Sylvain, throwing himself into attacks meant for others, or Ingrid and Dedue, blindly loyal to a beast, or even Dimitri, simmering with mad bloodlust. Felix is wary, Felix _watches_ ; he will not be taken unawares.

“That is reassuring,” Rodrigue says, with another one of those tiny quirks, and Felix has to force his fingers to relax, before he strains them and puts himself off of training. “I must go, now; please continue to keep me apprised of your studies.” Felix sighs as his father nods and turns back to his horse, and he watches Rodrigue and the company of Fraldarius soldiers ride out of the Monastery with only the smallest worry.

When he can no longer see his father on the road, he uncrosses his arms at last, shakes out his muscles, and then goes to find Sylvain.

**Author's Note:**

> Felix: Did you know? About Sylvain?  
> Rodrigue, remembering how attached Felix was to Sylvain as a child, and having seen how much Felix stares at Sylvain now: (haha I hope my son isn't coming out to me in the stables of all places) Did I know What, Felix?
> 
> As usual, thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Find me on twitter at [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


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